That Warm Feeling
by DarkAngelOfSorrowReturns
Summary: One warm feeling is replaced with another more acceptable one. Written for Hermione's Haven HolidayHideaway19!


Note: Any mistakes are my own. Written for Hermione's Haven HolidayHideaway19!

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His hair billowed from the breeze as he stood on the deck of his cottage. Merlin knows every one of his pompous, pureblood ancestors were writhing in their graves right now; a Malfoy should never set foot in a place like this.

A small, simple, cozy cottage like this.

That's why it was perfect for Draco. It was the last place he was expected to be. If he had to admit it to himself, the warm air of Anderby Creek was welcoming.

Much different from the chilling atmosphere of home.

Much different from the emptiness that's haunted him for nearly eight months.

He really thought he could do it; after everything, Draco thought he could handle the holidays after the loss. The lack of his mother's touch in lavish decorations proved him wrong. So, in a very 'Draco' fashion, the blond shut off communication with everyone, grabbed a bottle of firewhiskey and scotch, and Apparated to the first place that came to mind. Fortunately, the image in his mind had been advertised on the telly he'd acquired months before.

_ Damn it all _. Now that his mind drifted to the telly, he had to think about why he had the Muggle invention in the first place. Surely she would understand his reasoning. She wouldn't take offense to his abrupt retreat from the 'happy' occasion of a Christmas celebration at the Three Broomsticks.

Who was he kidding? This was Hermione bloody Granger he was thinking about. She'd have his head and bury him in the sand. No one would ever know. As he took a swig from the bottle of firewhiskey, the burning liquid gave him the opportunity to console himself with the thought that the curly-haired witch wouldn't find him. Or perhaps she would realize that she and the lot were better off without his infectious broodiness.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy! How _dare_ you leave like that!"

The outburst came from inside the beach hut, and it caused Draco to drop the bottle.

"Shite," he cursed aloud as the glass shattered near his shoes—he would laugh victoriously at those blighters who mocked his dragonhide taste should he survive the current situation—and he turned around sharply, only to meet the blazing brown eyes belonging to his girlfriend.

"I arrive at your place like we planned to do in the first place, and you're nowhere to be found," Hermione exclaimed. "No heads up, no note explaining your whereabouts, nothing!"

Despite the haze forming in his mind, Draco could see the distress through her anger. A few years ago he wouldn't have believed that the witch would make such an expression in his direction after their tumultuous past as the bully and the fighter.

Before his mind wandered off and caused him to get hexed, Draco ran a hand through his hair and stepped inside the beach hut. He kept a small distance because the potential danger of Hermione and her wand was not gone.

"Mia, look," he started to say, but what could he say to explain things properly? He wasn't so open about his emotions and feelings; it was better to deflect with contempt and sarcasm. However, if he wanted to go into the new year, it was best not to poke his witch further. "It simply couldn't be done this year. Sorry."

Hermione looked at him incredulously. "Sorry? That's it. No other explanation for your actions?"

"You're the Brightest Witch of Her Age," he replied with a drunken bite. "I'm sure you can figure it out." Draco glanced swiftly around the small room for the scotch bottle he'd brought along with him.

Of course, Hermione knew of his intentions and shook her head. "You're not going to find it, Draco," she quipped.

"I'll just conjure up something else."

"Damn it, Draco! This isn't like you."

"Who bloody knows what is and isn't like me, huh?" Draco demanded. "I thought I did once, but today...I just can't do it. I can't go smile or charm the likes of those idiots because I'll look into their faces and be reminded that one won't be there!" He threw his hands in the air. "So yeah, I left. I wanted to forget that this weekend existed because I won't be able to celebrate it with everyone I give a damn about."

The anger was fading away from Hermione's form as Draco spilled his guts. He blamed the firewhiskey. Nonetheless, it was out there, and when Hermione realized what he was referring to, it would make him feel worse because that would ruin her festive mood as well. He cursed inwardly because he was starting to feel like a stereotypical Hufflepuff.

Hermione sighed and stepped closer to Draco. "Oh Merlin, I'm sorry, Draco," she said. "I should have known this would be fresh and painful for you…" Hermione bit her bottom lip and looked down shamefully. "I had gotten worried that you were hurt physically and never considered emotional pain."

Drunkish or not, Draco detested when Hermione chided herself over small things. Granted, he just egged it on in his own bitterness, but it wasn't her fault.

"She was fond of you, you know," he said. "She respected your strength through everything."

Draco watched her rub her arm subconsciously. While the horrid term had been covered with a tattoo of roses and vines, the memory was not forgotten. His only regret was that he hadn't killed his aunt before she could inflict that pain on the witch.

Again, he was drifting down memory lane. "It hit harder than I anticipated when I realized my mother wouldn't be behind the decorations of the holiday celebration this year, and I followed my first instinct."

Hermione was closer to him now, and she met his gaze. There was a sense of comfort within them that he preferred over the blaze that would have surely lit his arse into oblivion.

"Attempting to hide away by yourself isn't an instinct," Hermione said matter of factly. "It's simply a side effect of you being a prick."

Draco snorted, lifting his chin as far as he could without feeling dizzy. "Now I know what you think of your boyfriend," he remarked sarcastically. "I feel much better."

"You're always going to be a prick, Draco," Hermione replied, "but no one should be alone for Christmas," she said, her hand resting on top of his. "Especially when you're grieving."

"Is this so _ you're _not alone for Christmas?" he replied with a quirked brow and small smirk. It was an automatic deflection that he couldn't stop. "I know the festivities would be ghastly without my presence."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but a soft smile graced her features. "I shall reiterate. You're _ always _going to be a prick." Her smile fell slightly. "Grieving is no small feat, Draco. Promise you'll talk to me next time instead of running, yes?"

He nearly felt like he was being reprimanded like a child. Nearly. Hermione always had that kind of effect. It was scolding he needed because no one else was capable of 'putting him in his place'.

Without verbally responding, Draco pulled Hermione into an embrace; they were nowhere near the others, so this vulnerability was safe to expose. When she wrapped her arms around his waist and whispered that she was still going to pay him back for making her worry—not that she ever explained how she found him in the first place—Draco realized that the fiery witch was all the welcoming warmth he needed.


End file.
